Following on from thoughts of food that I wrote about a little while ago.

Morning tea.                                                          

 I take the tray from the cupboard under the sink, the one mother in law passed on to us. Being precious to her, crafted in marquetry with a beautiful leaf design by her great uncle Horace around 1900, she proudly brought it out only for special guests.  

                We’ve used it habitually every morning since my husband retired, for our tea.   One tea bag is enough but it has to be PG tips, into a pot that I bought in a charity shop some years ago. I was attracted firstly by the size,  bigger than the norm, and then by the Red Rose pattern that reminded me of when we were courting. 

We like not to be disturbed, but today as I stare sleepily out of the window while waiting for the kettle to boil, the phone rings and my daughter, Kate, wants advice from mum while she walks to work. It’s her favourite time to ring.

Ten minutes later it’s back to the tea.   I cover the pot in a tea cosy that was specially made  by my daughter Emma, for our fortieth anniversary and which has pictures of our wedding day cleverly woven into it. Two cups and saucers with a similar design to the pot, but with “Ruby Wedding” written on them, sit next to a small, plain white jug.  I have lots of jugs. I get it from my Dad. He collects small jugs. He’s very fussy and they have to be bone china, as do the cups and saucers. I was teary eyed  when I visited then last week and saw that at eighty two,  he  still takes a tray of tea up to mum in the mornings. Something he’s also done since he’s been retired .

          We settle our morning bones into the welcome sofa to drink our first cuppa, with me reading the daily meditation. Half hour of peace, breathing deeply to find the place where the I becomes the we of a newfound joy for today.  There’s another interruption as my son stands tall and lanky in the doorway and asks for money for the bus.  And can Suzy come and stay. As I try to work out whether or not it would be convenient Peter has said yes and Dom is out the door like a bullet, knowing that there’s always a possibility I will override his father. Today though I breathe a sigh of relief and calmly sip my tea.